


The Last of the True Romantics

by J Millington (valoise)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-10-31
Updated: 1998-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valoise/pseuds/J%20Millington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his world is crumbling around him, there's one friend Mulder can always depend on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last of the True Romantics

Last of the True Romantics  
by J. Millington

 

Slash but no Krycek or Skinner here, this is a Mulder/other story.

Spoilers for Unusual Suspects and The End.

* * * * * * * * *

 

I went looking for him, in all the most likely places, as soon as I heard. Which is pretty weird, when I think back on what happened latter. I mean, we'd been nothing more than friends for so long, I'd almost forgotten what it was like. Almost like that night in Baltimore had never happened. Or, at least, that's what I let myself believe.

Giannelli's was the next to the last stop on my list, close enough to work for him to drop into after the hearing, but too far from the Hoover building to be a regular waterhole for the average G-man. The dim light encouraged anonymity; I had to look hard to find him. Mulder was scrunched down in a booth in the back, head bent low over a beer glass.

I stopped in front of the booth and cleared my throat. "Hell of a way to start a vacation, Mulder."

He looked up, dull eyes scanning the room behind me, checking to see if maybe I'd brought the boys along. "Go away, Frohike. I'm not in the mood." His dropped his head back down, contemplating the empty glass.

That's what probably did it for me. Seeing him so miserable and alone. Didn't even stop to consider the consequences, my heart was gone and I knew it was a lost cause. Always had been. I mean, look at us. You'd have to look hard to find a more mismatched pair.

Sure, when we'd first met he'd been so pretty, so eager. So open to new experiences. But then again, he'd just gotten out of the hospital. Maybe the drugs hadn't worn off yet. I'd been attracted right from the start. After the excitement from the warehouse raid had worn off, I'd sat in that holding cell obsessed with a man I was sure I could never have. I just couldn't shake the image of his naked body huddled on the floor.

Me and Mulder, even for one night. Talk about extreme possibilities. Byers and Langly never found out what happened. For Mulder's sake, I wanted to make sure they never did.

I hadn't expect things to last. I never believed I was good enough for him. But now that the shit had really hit the fan, I knew that maybe I was the best thing he had left. If he'd have me, that is.

I sat down opposite him in the booth and waved at the waitress. "Bring us a pitcher, whatever he was drinking."

Mulder didn't look up, just mumbled, "Oh hell, why not. Not like I have to get up and go to work in the morning."

"And no one to work with if you did." I couldn't believe what I'd just said. I didn't expect things to last. I never believed I was good enough for him. But now I knew that maybe I was the best thing he had left. If he'd have me, that is.

Mulder looked at me, stricken, as if he couldn't believe it either. "I think you'd better go."

I reached out for him, but he pulled away. "Hey, man. I'm sorry. But how the hell could she leave now, when you're down for the count."

He lowered his head again. "She had to. I'm as good as gone. Come Monday, they'll make it official. She needed to move on."

Okay, I guess I could see his point. But I'd always had such mixed feelings for Scully, that weird combination of jealousy and lust. And I always thought that eventually she'd let go and let him in. What it all boiled down to was this; at least as one of us would make Mulder happy. Hell, even I could understand why he didn't want a troll like me. Why take the Beast when Beauty was willing? But she wasn't. Willing, that is. Never had been, as far as I could tell.

The waitress brought the pitcher and another glass. I poured one for myself and filled Mulder's glass for him. He polished that one off in silence and poured himself another.

 

We ended up killing the pitcher without saying another word. He peered over the top of his glass from time to time, as if waiting for me to say something. I couldn't imagine what. He was screwed and we both knew it. And we both also knew he didn't want any sympathy.

It's not like he meant to burn down that government testing facility. Christ, no. Blow it up, maybe. Expose the horrendous things it was doing, probably. Stop the testing on unwitting civilians, certainly. I just wish he hadn't got caught in the process.

I couldn't take the silence any more. "At least they're not pressing criminal charges."

Mulder tipped the glass, trying to find another drop, then set it down on the table just a little too hard. "They couldn't afford the spotlight. God, imagine those test subjects splattered all over CNN." He belched and grinned. "Better to just discredit me."

'You're disgusting." Then I belched to match his. "Come on, handsome, let's get out of here."

Mulder swayed as he stood, gripping the edge of the table for support. Looking up at him, I was shocked at how old he looked. Where had the years gone?

I remember how he'd looked when we first met, fresh and curious. Even after being doused with an experimental chemical and a long night in the hospital in restraints, he'd come waltzing into the convention center full of questions. Full of wonder as a new world opened up to him.

Tonight he just looked tired. More than tired, ready to hang it up for good.

I guess that's why I'd tracked him down tonight. I was afraid for him. His job had defined him, given him an outlet and a purpose. Now that it was gone, now that Scully had moved on, what did he have to keep him in touch with this world?

* * * *

If there's anything less dignified than a drunk staggering down the sidewalk, it's a staggering drunk being shored up by a midget. It's a good thing the street was deserted, at least Mulder was spared the humiliation of an audience. Not that he would have noticed. It took all his impaired concentration just to figure out where he'd left his car.

No way I was going to let him drive home. When we finally found Mulder's car, I snagged the keys from him as he stared intently trying to decide which one to use. My beat-up old van was less tempting bait for a car thief than his sedan, so I took it upon myself to drive him home.

"Hey." He made a feeble swing to retrieve the keys, missed them by a mile. "Give those back."

"Nothing doin', Mulder." I opened the passenger door. "Get in."

He collapsed in the seat in a graceless heap. "It's my car, dammit."

"I know that and if you'll let me drive you home, your car will still be in one piece tomorrow." And so would he, maybe. I let myself in the driver's side and reached down, looking for the lever to move the seat up. "Give me a hint here."

"Left side," he grumbled and turned away, staring out of the window.

I scooted the seat forward, stuck the key in the ignition and started the car.

He didn't say a word on the drive to his apartment. Made me start to wonder if tracking him down tonight had been such a good idea. Maybe he just needed some time alone to make sense of the past week. It's not every day that a man loses his job, his career, and his best friend all at the same time.

When we pulled up to his building he made no attempt to get out. He was still turned toward away from me, his shoulders hitched up tight.

I resisted the urge to touch him, to reach out and stroke his hair and tell him it would be okay. We'd been a lot of things to each other, but we'd always been honest.

I opened my door and tossed the keys in his lap. "I don't know about you, but I need to get into your apartment to call a cab."

At least that got him moving. He climbed out of the car without a word and plodded up the sidewalk to his building.

The grim silence had me worried. Mulder didn't get drunk often, thank God, but when he did, it didn't help his bright and cheery disposition. An overabundance of alcohol merely stripped the wiseass veneer, leaving his soul bare. Now I was really glad I'd dragged him out of that bar.

Heading into the kitchen, I called back to him, "I'm going to make some coffee."

He grunted. I took it for assent.

The television was flickering, volume turned down all the way, when I brought two steaming cups from the kitchen. Mulder was sprawled on the couch.

I sat down beside him, forcing him to pull his legs up to make room. "What 'cha watchin'?"

He punched the remote off. "Nothing. There's nothing on." He ignored his coffee and stared at me. "Why do you stick around, Frohike? Why the hell do you even bother with a loser like me?"

Why indeed. I took a sip from my cup. "I guess because we're so much alike."

He laughed.

"I'm serious," I continued. "Look at everything we have in common. There's the distrust of the government."

"A love of fine cinema," he countered.

"Weird friends and no social life," I added as he leaned unexpectedly close.

Mulder whispered, "I never deserved a friend like you." He reached out and stroked my thigh, that light touch sending a fiery message straight to my groin. I chose to ignore it. Mulder had other ideas.

Leaning in close, he nuzzled my ear. "Why didn't you ever come back? One night and you never mentioned it again."

That made me swallow. Had he really expected more? "I think you know what happened. Tall brunette. Long legs and a sexy mind."

He rested his head on my shoulder, his beery breath inches from my face. "Diana Fowley didn't come along for months after that. I thought. . . I got the idea that you didn't like it. That I wasn't any good."

Geez, Mr. Tall, Dark and Sexy and he thought he wasn't good enough. "God, Mulder. What the hell would make you think something like that?"

Pulling back, he eyes finally met mine. "Come on, Frohike. How long have we known each other now? I'm not setting any records with my love life."

Laughing, I moved his hand off of my leg. "You know what our problem is, don't you? We're the last true romantics in a world obsessed with raunchy sex."

He slipped his hand back across my lap, brushing across my erection. "Speak for yourself. I'd settle for some raunchy sex right now."

That was almost too much. I grabbed his hand from my lap and kissed it, trailing my lips across his palm.

He whispered in my ear, "Why do you stick around a loser like me?" He pulled his hand from mine, and pulled me close, wrapping me in his arms.

It was tempting. God, was it tempting. I wanted nothing more than to take him right then and there on that couch. Like I'd done almost ten years ago. But I wanted the whole man, not this troubled soul, drunk and broken and vulnerable.

"You're drunk." I chided. Pulling back I snagged the afghan from the back of the couch and tucked it around him. "You don't know what you want."

His hand reached out, tracing feather-light down my jaw. "I mean it. The offer's good anytime." He snaked his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me down, brushing a kiss across my lips. "I won't be drunk tomorrow."

I stared at him, captivated by his eyes, then pulled back. "I'll see myself out."

Shrugging into my coat, I snuck one last peek at him. His eyes were closed, breathing soft and even. "Maybe tomorrow I'll take you up on that offer."

 

* * The End * *


End file.
